


Believing

by aniceghost



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 07:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16512305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aniceghost/pseuds/aniceghost
Summary: Grantaire has a bad mental health day and Enjolras is there for him.





	Believing

Grantaire woke up aching and dragged himself out of bed with a tremendous effort. There was a weight on his chest that pushed him back toward the bed with ever-increasing pressure. He had hoped that being clean would help, but today the effort of showering and brushing his teeth only served to further exhaust him. He willed himself to remain upright long enough to dig out a fresh pair of sweatpants and his softest paint-stained t-shirt, the one Jehan sometimes borrowed when they were sad. By the time he collapsed on the bed, the weight that pulled at his body felt impossibly heavier than before, and he slid back into the warm refuge of the blankets and closed his eyes with relief.  
As he lay unmoving, images passed across his eyelids of vines, murky green ropes that grew from the mattress and rose to wrap around him, tight and unforgiving. He was a dying tree, ancient and and still; the vines would choke him to death. Time and weight and stillness, and beneath it all a sense of sorrow that seemed to reach for him from a great distance. A cloud of vague and formless grief, like that of a stranger’s funeral. Heavy silence. He pulled the blankets up a little further, curled in on himself a little more.  
And that was how he remained, listless and overcome, for what could have been minutes or hours. Probably he dozed off once or twice, but sleep and wakefulness felt the same. He knew that if he opened his eyes his cluttered, lonely bedroom would look impossibly bleak, so he did not open them. Time and weight and stillness. Everything indeterminate and unimportant except for that dull, gray grief. It was in the paint on his walls and behind his eyelids and in the air he breathed. It crushed him.   
Sometimes in his darker moods Grantaire would recall this very feeling with something akin to longing. It was the singular hell he descended to on his very worst days, when the pain became almost physical. It hurt like a tattoo needle hurt, vindicating and right. It was what he deserved. This was the pain he had earned for himself, and there was a horrible, horrible pleasure in it. His head throbbed. He would cry if he could. He dozed again.  
“Grantaire?”   
Grantaire jumped a little, eyes opening of their own accord and blinking against the muted sunlight that filtered in through the curtains. It must have been a few hours then, at least.  
“Are you alright?” Through his haze Grantaire made out the fuzzy form of Enjolras now perched on the edge of the bed, a little worried furrow between his brows. His voice was quiet and tinged with concern, but Grantaire still found it grating after the long, complete silence. He did not answer, instead closing his eyes against the new rush of sorrow that pressed against his chest. He needed Enjolras to leave. He needed quiet and darkness. He needed to let himself suffocate here, with no one to bother him about it. But his silence only caused Enjolras to inch closer to him, placing a hand lightly on Grantaire’s arm over the blanket. “R? What is it? Are you sick?”  
Grantaire, hoping to appease him, gave a slight nod, eyes still closed. The weight of Enjolras’s hand felt good. If he would just stop talking. But of course he did not, and Grantaire could hear the frown in his voice when he spoke again, gently. “Mental or physical?”  
Grantaire answered by turning his face further into the pillow, but Enjolras seemed to understand anyway. He had seen Grantaire depressed before, but not when it was this bad. Grantaire had hoped, stupidly, that Enjolras would never have to see him like this. He should have known it was inevitable.   
Enjolras’s hand had begun to move now, rubbing slow, soothing circles into Grantaire’s arm. It felt so unfairly good that it made the pain feel sharper and closer by contrast, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to pull away or lean into the touch. Ultimately he did neither, because moving was too difficult.  
“What do you need, R?” Enjolras wasn’t one for pet names, but when he was worried he was prone to saying Grantaire’s nickname with a sort of tender familiarity that made it sound like “sweetheart.” That, too, was wonderfully soothing, and all at once he couldn’t bear the thought of Enjolras leaving, despite what he had wished seconds before.   
Misinterpreting Grantaire’s momentary indecision, Enjolras stopped the motion of his hand. “It’s okay if you need to be alone. I can go.”  
“No--” Grantaire’s voice croaked spectacularly form disuse. He tried again. “No, can you-- can you please stay?” He hated himself; he hated himself for asking, for how small and pathetic his voice sounded. Enjolras didn’t deserve to have to deal with him when he was like this, nor did any of his terribly kind, patient friends. Grantaire should have known better than to ask for things; it was best if he suffered alone.  
“Of course. Can I lie down with you?” Grantaire nodded automatically, chest tight. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you. He watched as Enjolras removed his shoes and jacket and set them to the side. He was wearing gray joggers and a white t-shirt that hung just loose enough to make him look invitingly soft, and as Grantaire watched him maneuver himself into the bed and settle onto his back beside him, he felt a new ache in his chest alongside the one that had been there since he woke. Before he knew what he was doing, he had closed the small distance between them and was pressing himself desperately against Enjolras, head on his chest and hands clinging to his soft shirt and his warm, smooth skin. Enjolras stilled for a moment, surprised by the sudden burst of movement, before bringing his own hands up to hold Grantaire gently against his chest, rubbing up and down Grantaire’s side in a soothing motion.   
“I’m sorry.” The words escaped without permission, and once they began he was helpless to stop them. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t--” His voice broke, and it took him a moment to continue. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t go.”   
“ _R._ ” There it was, again, that syllable spoken so softly it was more like an exhalation than a word, full of so much tenderness, perfect and undeserved. “It’s alright, you don’t need to apologize. I’m not going anywhere.”  
“You should, though. You’re not obligated to deal with this just because you--” he swallowed. “Just because we’re dating. It’s not fair to you.”  
“I don’t do anything out of obligation, Grantaire. You know that. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” The words were fierce, but quickly softened by a kiss to Grantaire’s temple. And this was the Enjolras who truly broke his heart. The Enjolras he thought he knew before they were together, the one that was all fire and steel, that Enjolras he had learned how to handle. But this rarer, softer side of him, the gentle warmth that lingered in the absence of the raging fire, made Grantaire’s chest ache with a love so deep and sure and burning that it came back around to sorrow. It compelled the truth from him.  
“I don’t understand why you do. Want to be.” He curled impossibly closer, turning his face into the safety of Enjolras’s neck where he didn’t have to meet his eyes.  
“You don’t have to.” His arms tightened around Grantaire, and his voice was quiet. “For once just let me care about you. Just trust that I do.”   
Grantaire didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. Instead, he pressed a kiss against Enjolras’s shoulder and drew the blanket up further around them both. There were tears pressing at the corners of his eyes; he felt wrung out and scraped raw. But there in the dim light he could make out the look of quiet affection on Enjolras’s face, could feel those unexpectedly gentle hands continuing to rub slow circles against his back. Breathing deeply, he imagined for a moment that he could sink into the warmth of Enjolras and disappear.   
“Thank you.” He breathed the words against skin and heard a small huff in response.  
“You don’t need to thank me.”  
“I know,” Grantaire replied, because he did know. At least, he knew that was what Enjolras thought, and maybe that was enough for now. And then, because he had to say it, “I love you.”  
“I love you, too.” He could hear the smile in the Enjolras’s voice, and the tightness in his chest unwound itself just a little. “I love you so much, Grantaire.”   
Grantaire sought out his hand and intertwined their fingers, too heavy with love and sorrow and exhaustion to trust himself with any more words. But they came to him in the silence just the same. _Maybe I’m starting to believe you._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
